She Was Everything
---- Cecil felt raw, a weight falling over his shoulders and a lump in his throat as as he trudged through the humid May day. He had left his dreary apartment in the early morning and barely had the heart to go to work. Each step of the walk had felt heavy and he didn’t do anymore than spend his day slumped over a desk in the library. He hadn’t even picked up anything to read or work on- he just sat there, trying to ignore his gnawing emotions. Honestly, it was all just a farce. When he had woken up that morning he had known that today would be fruitless. It would have been better to stay in bed and perhaps nibble on a bland tuna sandwich. He hadn’t eaten anything at all and when he tried to take small sips of water, he felt like he would vomit. After the work day was done, Cecil stood, chair scraping against the floor, echoing off of the walls in the library. He had nothing else to do, his day of pretending could be over. He could go home and attempt to sleep through the next day, wake up on the sixth and go on like the past week had never happened. The walk wasn't as long as he had expected it to be, though walking through town was dismal. He couldn't help but hear the sounds of children laughing and siblings squabbling as they played in the quaint streets. It was those sounds that threatened to snap Cecil's heart in two. He swore that they made the air in his lungs disappear. He would have quickened his pace if he could, but it was as if he was dragging a heavy ball-and-chain behind him; he couldn’t let go of the words echoing in his mind. "Mari I'm not cut out to be some storybook hero. So just stop, get your head out of fairytales and into the real world for once." Cecil's jaw clenched and the typhoon in his gut raged on. The last words she had ever heard him say were like knives, aimed to pierce through skin and now they were shredding through him. At long last, he reached his room. Cecil took off his blazer, hanging it and his tie in the closet. He let his hair down and his body fall onto the bed. He wanted to take a long cold bath, then go to sleep. The water ran into the porcelain tub, filling it with lukewarm water until it nearly lapped over the edge. Cecil sat in the bath, eyes glazed over and mind wandering to the particular contents of his week that had caused his sorry state. The first time he had seen her was in the coffee shop, buying a drink on his way to work. At first he had seen her out of the corner of his eye and heard her voice echoing in his ears. She had said his name as a greeting and in his shock, he had dropped his drink. The next time he saw her with two days later, swinging on the swings in the park he grew up playing at, a broad smile on her face, long hair afloat in the breeze, calling his name over and over, asking him to come talk to her. He ignored her. Everywhere he went he saw Mari’s face. The face of his little sister, smiling at him from beyond the grave. He saw her at the library, walking on the tables, distracting him from his work, in his dreams at night, sometimes a visage like a saint, or sometimes screaming and hitting him, blaming him for what he did. Every waking moment of the day he could see her vibrant hair out of the corner of his eye. It was torture. What had he done to anger the dead? He did everything she had ever wanted him to do. He was becoming a hero for her, not for himself. What had he done wrong? Tomorrow was the anniversary of her death. Maybe then, after a year had passed she would move on. Maybe then he could forget about her and all that she meant to him. Maybe then his heart wouldn’t be an open wound- sore and festering. The water drained from the tub as Cecil left the room, pulling on a loose-fitting shirt and boxers, crawling under the sheets. Before he turned off the light he reached for a bottle. He had recently purchased high strength sedative-hypnotics a few months back, particularly for days like today, when the memory of Mari hit so hard it nearly crippled him. After popping two pills into his mouth and chasing them down with a splash of tap water, Cecil fell asleep. The morning light crept in through slanted shades. He wanted to sleep through this day, to escape the pain. But clearly, that wasn’t an option when his guilt already was gnawing inside at 6:30 AM. Cecil got up at 7, boiling water and putting coffee grounds into his french press, preparing coffee for his morning. He had to see her today. But he would wait until sundown. He didn’t want to see his parents and the bitter expressions they held for him. Cecil spent the day rotating positions across his apartment. Sitting at the kitchen table, attempting to read the news while pouring coffee into his empty stomach. At the desk chair in his office, a blank computer screen in front of him. Laying on his bed, stomach on the mattress and his head under a pillow. Trying to read the novel he had been looking forward to reading in the armchair in his living room. Nothing held his attention for long. But it did pass the time. Soon it was nearly sunset and Cecil got out of pajamas, putting on a black suit and pulling the white lilies out of their vase on his kitchen table. He looked at himself in the mirror, his eyes were sunken, with purple circles underneath. He had dropped a few pounds, his shirt no longer fitting perfectly across his shoulders. The fabric hang limp. Looking at himself made his stomach roil and turn. It was sickening. Cecil turned away, he couldn’t bear to see himself anymore. It was time to visit Mari. The walk to the cemetery felt like it took hours. The same guilt and self-loathing clinging onto him as he walked through the streets in muggy early May. Mist was beginning to form as the sun set, cooling the area ever so slightly while creating a ghastly environment. It was too fitting. He walked through the rows of gravestones, down the hill and to where she was buried, near a drooping willow tree. He stood at first, staring at the words carved on the stone. Mari Shimizu, beloved daughter. It had been a year. A year since the fight and the accident that had taken her away from him. Thinking about it again, reliving the fight and the words they had spat at each other made him fall to his knees, shifting over so that his back leaned against her headstone. “Mari, I’m sorry.” He said, voice rocky and raw. “I’m sorry that I didn’t listen to you. It’s my fault that you went to that party, got sick, and died.” Cecil swallowed, “I see you all the time now. You always said you’d stick to me like glue. I guess you were right.” He said with a faint laugh. Mari wished he could see her now. Out of all the times she had tried to talk to him and he had ignored her. This time he was there. He was trying to see her, but no matter what she did. He couldn’t hear her. He couldn’t see her. “It’s not your fault,” she said from the other side of her grave, words left on dead ears. “I was the one who overreacted Cecil, please, you need to let go.” If he didn’t let go, she’d stay there forever. Floating between the land of the living and the world of the dead. Seeing him like this make her heart ache. He blamed himself for everything. He was trying to be strong, to be brave, but it wasn’t helping. He still believed he was at fault. “Could you ever forgive me?” he said. “Yes,” she sobbed, repeating it over and over until her voice was a scream, praying that it would reach him. But it never did. “I guess it’s stupid. Speaking to you now that you’re gone.” But she wasn’t gone. Not yet. Not until he could find peace with her death. She wouldn’t be free until he realized that. Cecil got to his feet, trying to walk away. But there was something tugging at him. Something that kept him there and he didn’t know why. He didn’t want to leave his little sister there, rotting in her grave. She didn’t deserve to be dead. The weight settled on his chest, digging at him until he finally admitted what he needed to say. “I guess I need to move on. You were everything to me… And now that you’re gone. Well. I’m going to do everything I can to be who you needed me to be.” Cecil walked away as the last rays of sun set behind the mountain. He was going to go home. Take another bath, take his pills, and go to sleep. He stopped seeing her everywhere he went, the sounds of children, the sight of swings and the smell of lilacs no longer had the crippling effect they once did. And every Friday at sunset he would go to the cemetery, lean against his sister’s headstone and tell her about his week. About the jobs he took and the antics of the other wizards he knew. The close calls he had and how he swore that occasionally miracles would happen. It was as if she was watching over him from above.